Chapter Two
“Detained?”
Daphne placed her fingertips over her mouth in a poor attempt to hide the excitement at the possibilities that single word evoked. Could it really be true? Had the Mary Frances actually been detained?
Thomas stared at her from across their aunt’s cozy library. A thin ray of afternoon sunlight slipped over the shelves of books and trinkets and brightened her spot on the only feminine and floral chair in the room. “Detained,” he repeated, the scowl on his weary face deepening. “Indefinitely.”
While it was apparent Thomas saw this unexpected delay as a problem, Daphne claimed it as an opportunity. Arrangements could still be made for her to board the vessel, to return home without ever visiting the rest of this horrid country.
“I can have my things gathered shortly, Thomas. I have yet to fully unpack. If you make the arrangements we can leave—”
“Damn it, Daph.” Thomas’s large hand slammed down on the top of their deceased uncle’s desk. “I said indefinitely.”
Before they’d come to London, her brother had rarely lost his temper, and never with her. Now, he barked at her almost every day. She was growing weary of his cantankerous behavior.
“So the tide has been low or all the travel documents have not been obtained. Whatever prevents the crew from sailing will be resolved before long,” she said.
Thomas let out a low laugh. “If only it were that simple. This is entirely your fault.”
Daphne’s hand flew to her chest. “My fault? What are you talking about? A few days detainment is nothing uncommon. It can hardly be placed upon my shoulders.”
“Oh, but it can, and it will. Because, God bless it, no matter how low of a snake or underhanded Mr. Burnham may be, he was right.”
“Mr. Burnham?” What in heaven’s name was her brother rambling on about now?
“Let me inform you, dear sister, of what has transpired in the twenty-four hours since you so intemperately insulted Mr. Burnham, in his very office. The Mary Frances is no longer sitting fully stocked. In fact, her hull is now only seventy percent full. Would you like to know why?”
From Thomas’s tone, Daphne inferred the question to be a rhetorical one, but as her brother continued to glare at her, she asked out of politeness, “Were the goods spoiling?”
“No.” Her brother’s eyes closed as he tilted his head, cracking the vertebrae in his neck. “Nothing was damaged or rotten. At least for the present. But the longer the ship sits in the harbor, the greater the likelihood of such an outcome.”
Thomas stalked over to a half-empty decanter of brandy sitting on the sideboard and poured the amber-colored liquid into a glass. “Given the weak excuses merchants claimed as they retrieved their goods from our vessel, I can only presume Burnham made good on his threat. We are at seventy percent, because Burnham was right. We are on his side of the Atlantic, and despite what we might think of his business tactics, he does have connections. Connections who will act on his advice. Who knows how many others will pull out before we can stem this tide of vicious gossip?”
Daphne wrung her hands, her fingers interlocking as she knit them together. She had known her behavior would have implications, but none as far-reaching as what her brother implied. “Surely if a duke speaks on our behalf, he can quiet Burnham’s malicious rumors?”
“Yes,” Thomas tossed back a swallow of liquor. “If we can persuade the duke to invest with us. But we have yet to secure his agreement. No documents have been signed.”
Daphne watched him dispense with his drink and wished she might also have a medicinal tot. “He appeared eager and ready to invest just yesterday.”
“And just yesterday, Burnham had yet to smear our good name. The duke may no longer wish to work with us. If you had not stormed into the meeting, spouting your accusations—”
“Why did you not trust me?” Daphne asked. “Had this been some arrangement in Boston, I would have been privy to the details of the contract. But instead, I had to sneak around like some sort of thief, reading documents by candlelight.”
“This isn’t Boston, as you very well know. You created this mess, and God help me, you are going to clean it up.”
Daphne snorted. “And just how do you propose I do that? By pleading with the duke on bended knee to clear our name and right Burnham’s wrongs?”
Her brother sat on the edge of the desk, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Exactly.”
Daphne sprang from her chair and stormed across the room. “Why not you, Thomas? As you continue to point out, London is a man’s world, one where business arrangements are best made between men. Would my intervention not endanger any potential agreement? The duke seems to be a reasonable man, and you a persuasive one. It would be best that you proceed with the arranged meeting.”
The smile on Thomas’s face broadened. A smile that had, on numerous occasions back in Boston, come just before he told her of one of his outrageous schemes to secure yet another business deal. Schemes in which she invariably played a vital role. But somehow, she felt that this time, the role he had in mind for her was one she would have no desire to enact.
“I don’t believe so. I think our case would be better made with you at the helm. The duke requires convincing, Daph. He needs to see that our family is worthy of his investment.”
“And you wish me to convince him by begging his forgiveness and asking him to forget the particulars of our last encounter?”
Thomas eyed his glass. “My wish is that you spend time with the man. Impress him with your business expertise. Show him why our shipping line is better than our competitors’.”
While flattered and, indeed, surprised by her brother’s unexpected compliment, she was not dissuaded from her argument. “God in heaven, are you serious? You expect me to…to woo a member of the English nobility after what befell our own brother?”
“Blasphemy doesn’t become you. How are you to gain a man’s favor—”
“I don’t intend to gain any man’s favor. Especially an English one.”
Her brother’s face softened, the familiar crooked smile she knew all too well reappearing on his lips. “But don’t you remember all of our successes? Of all the times we’ve put our heads together and come away with lucrative deals?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted, suppressing the smile he was trying to provoke. “But that was before—”
“Did you not say you wanted a role in acquiring business here?” he pressed, lifting his brows in inquiry.
“Well, of course, but I had not thought—”
“Then I suggest you convince the duke of our family’s professionalism. Since you took it upon yourself to interject in our meeting yesterday, the duke has learned you have a more active role in Farrington Shipping than Burnham originally disclosed. It would be wise, if not savvy, to impress the duke with your acumen in order to quash any misgivings he might possess toward having a business association with a woman. Allow him to get to know you. Let him see that our good name is worthy of his protection and that we are capable of playing by his rules. We are not uncouth, despite what Burnham may say. I wish for you to prove him wrong.”
She snatched the iron poker beside the hearth and jabbed at the logs, sending sparks flying into the room. “And what if I refuse?”
Her brother wrested the poker from her hand in one deft twist. “Father left explicit instructions pertaining to your welfare. I am your elder and have been instructed to fill Father’s role as your guardian while here. You will gain the attention and favor of the Duke of Waverly. You will ask him to right this discord with Mr. Burnham and you will ask him to use his position and rank to acquire investors. Do you understand? Or shall I ask Aunt Susan if you can stay here for a year, rather than the three months we originally agreed upon.”
Daphne stared at her brother aghast. “You wouldn’t—”
Thomas leaned forward. “I most assuredly would. Our livelihood, not to mention the future of our merchant fleet, depends on it.”
She hated when her brother resorted to ultimatums, especially when he was in the right. She might refuse to forgive the English the crimes they committed against her family, especially after they so callously murdered her brother, but she wouldn’t be so selfish as to allow the bastards to inflict further suffering upon the Farringtons. Even if she were to sacrifice her pride in this ridiculous farce, would the duke be interested enough to make it plausible?
“I admit to being a rather outspoken American with no title, Thomas. What makes you think a duke would give me an audience?”
For the first time since their arrival in London, Thomas looked pleased. “Believe me when I say that is the slightest of my concerns. The way he gazed at you in Burnham’s office was not the look of a man indifferent to your…ah…charms.”
Whether the duke found her worthy of a second glance was no reason to believe he would listen to her plea. Thomas’s idea was ridiculous, outlandish, and utterly absurd. And the duke was still arrogant, aristocratic, and English.
“He is a sworn enemy. How am I supposed to befriend a man whom I despise?”
“You despise the man because of his nationality? He is merely English. He is from the same country our mother claimed as her home.”
“Mother never claimed England. England denied her the right.”
A sharp rap sounded on the thick library door as it burst open, their eldest cousin bounding her way into the middle of the room with her hands flailing about her flushed face.
“The Duke of Waverly. He’s here. Downstairs. Waiting in Mother’s drawing room with the duchess!”
A smile spread across her brother’s face, his blue eyes brightening with every breath their cousin inhaled.
“The Duke of Waverly?” he asked, looking damnably smug.
“Yes,” squealed Henrietta. “Forgive me for the intrusion, but we must hurry. Come.” She grabbed Daphne by the arm and hauled her to the door.
Thomas flashed Daphne a stern look. “You mustn’t keep the duke waiting. Oh, and Daphne, keep in mind what we discussed. I expect to see a genuine effort on your part.”
A genuine effort? As a friend? To the Duke of Waverly?
…
The Duke of Waverly stood in her aunt’s sunny drawing room, not five feet from Daphne, his eyes alight with amusement. Aunt Susan, however, stood approximately eight and a half feet from the duke’s right shoulder, her hands gripping the back of an oak chair as Henrietta made her way beside her.
“Ah, Miss Farrington. What a pleasure it is to see you again,” said the duke. “And Mr. Farrington.”
“Your Grace.” Thomas bowed and stepped beside her. “How kind of you to call on us.”
Daphne started a slow count to ten—in French this time—to steady her nerves. The duke couldn’t possibly be here. Not now. Not before she’d had the chance to think of a way to extricate herself from her brother’s ridiculous scheme.
Thomas elbowed her in the side, the sharp and unexpected pain causing her to gasp. It was a warning, and she knew it. Be nice. Mind your tongue. Or stay in England for an entire year.
“Miss Farrington?” the duke questioned, a look of concern on his face.
“Your Grace,” she exclaimed, her voice coming across a bit higher than she intended. She began her descent into a curtsy when her ankle wobbled, propelling her upper body forward. The duke’s hands righted her, his firm grasp making her not only forget the French words for eight, nine, and ten, but her voice entirely.
Henrietta cleared her throat beside her and said, “This is quite the unexpected surprise, Your Grace. I’m afraid my sisters are not here to receive you. They are in town, shopping for new bonnets.”
Only a few months Daphne’s junior, Henrietta was stunning, her dark, glossy curls always arranged in a pleasing frame about her smooth and pale face. Daphne released a long breath. Of course he had come to see her cousin. Why else would he be here?
“The fault is all mine, Lady Henrietta. My apologies for not giving notice, but the duchess was most anxious to make the acquaintance of Miss Farrington.”
“Me?” Daphne squeaked.
The duke grinned, looking younger and damnably charming, sending her heart aflutter. “Yes, of course. I’m afraid ever since I made mention that I had already made your acquaintance, Mother has been quite jealous and wished to see you for herself.”
“Will you introduce us, or must I have Lady Amhurst make the introductions?” the elder woman beside him asked.
Daphne had been so distracted and anxious by the duke’s presence that she had barely noticed the petite woman standing beside him.
“I would be more than happy,” her aunt began, but was silenced by the duke’s outstretched hand.
“My apologies, Mother. I have quite forgotten my manners. Your Grace, may I present Miss Farrington?”
Dark-haired, and with the most unusual golden brown eyes, the Duchess of Waverly stared at Daphne with an intensity one might fix on a criminal just before the noose was slipped around his neck. She was being measured. Judged. And, no doubt, found wanting. All by someone she had neither met before this very moment nor wished to see any time beyond it.
She dipped into a curtsy, her feet sinking into the carpet. “Your Grace.”
Aunt Susan heaved a heavy sigh, no doubt thankful Daphne had not further embarrassed her in front of such noble company. “Shall I order some tea, Your Grace?” her aunt asked.
“Please. I look forward to getting to know the enchanting Miss Farrington and uncovering just how the two of you are connected,” she said, waving her closed fan between Daphne and her aunt. The duchess sat in the nearest upholstered chair, motioning for everyone else to join her.
Daphne claimed a seat on a cream-colored settee farthest from the duchess. Thomas followed, standing just behind her, no doubt to remind her of the mission he demanded. Henrietta chose the empty seat beside Daphne, nestling into the brocade pillows artfully arranged on the furniture. The duke remained standing, occupying the formerly empty space behind his mother’s chair, his watchful gaze once again making Daphne’s insides flutter and her cheeks warm.
The room was silent, the duchess obviously waiting for some sort of explanation on their familial relationship. In her most polite voice, Daphne said, “Lady Amhurst is my aunt, Your Grace. She and my mother are sisters.”
Thomas gripped her shoulder, stilling her fidgeting hands.
And the duke continued his unnerving stare. Was he judging her, too?
“Sisters?” the duchess inquired, quirking a dark brow. “I had no idea you had a sister, Susan.”
An assortment of powdered cakes and cookies arrived on a silver platter, the mouthwatering and sweet-smelling treats stacked neatly alongside the afternoon tea service.
Her aunt lifted the steaming kettle and poured Her Grace a cup of tea, taking care not to clink the delicate china. “Yes, madam, Elizabeth was ten years older than I. She married when I was eight.”
The duchess eyed Daphne. “And what of your father? Is he a gentleman?”
How typical of a duchess to ask such a personal question that was absolutely none of her business. The pressure of Thomas’s hand on her shoulder was one of restraint, one to caution her against the outburst he knew was forthcoming.
“Daphne is of noble blood, madam,” Aunt Susan began, but Daphne cut her off.
“My father is a distinguished man,” she said, with her chin held high.
“But he is not a peer?” the duchess inquired with exquisite politesse.
Daphne fluffed the pillow at her side, a plush little confection sporting pastel cabbage roses that would look so charming flung at Her Grace’s head. “Among those in Boston, he is a highly respected, honorable, and very successful man.”
Henrietta swallowed a gulp of tea. “Uncle William owns the largest merchant fleet in Boston.”
“Your father works in trade?” The duchess sounded smug, as if her question drove home an earlier point.
“Of course,” Daphne said. Upon closer inspection Her Grace’s eyes were the exact color of old horse droppings. “Most men gain wealth and distinction by hard, honest work. They earn it.”
A trill of high-pitched laughter escaped from Aunt Susan’s lips. “That is to say, how most men in America gain their wealth.”
“I have heard of your father’s success,” the duke replied. “I imagine you are quite proud of his accomplishments.”
Had she heard correctly? Had the duke complimented her father?
What the devil?
She openly stared at the man, who appeared to be entirely sincere, his face reflecting nothing but kindness. But then, this was not the first time the duke had come to her defense.
Thomas lightened his grip on her shoulder. “We are most proud of our family and its success, Your Grace.”
At her son’s comment, the duchess huffed, her fan waving so hard Daphne thought it a wonder the woman’s arm did not fall off. “How did the daughter of a marquess marry a…a—”
“A man of business?” Daphne offered sweetly. “I dare say it was out of love and affection. Mama always said Papa had a devilish grin and a rakish personality that she found incredibly hard to resist.”
The duke’s lips quirked. “And what of your mother, Miss Farrington? What drew your father to her?”
Thomas’s fingers clenched around her shoulder, as if he had whispered in her ear. Give some sort of witty reply. Charm the man.
Daphne shrugged her shoulders in a futile attempt to dislodge her brother’s grasp. “I would like to believe it was her personality, but I’m fairly certain it was her attractive profile that initially captured his interest.”
The duke rested his arms on the settee and leaned forward. “Indeed, Miss Farrington. And how did these two destined souls come upon each other?”
“Well, I…I believe my father was in London before the War of Independence, seeking English goods to ship back to Boston. He came across her ribbon shopping in a store on Bond Street.”
“And your grandfather let her be seduced away by an American?” the duchess asked, her fan going still.
“Elizabeth was a very determined young woman,” her aunt replied. “And William was a most charming man. My father could do little to separate them, other than cut off Elizabeth’s fortune, which he did. But William simply replaced it with his own. My sister lived quite comfortably in her new home.”
Had her aunt just defended her parents’ marriage? And to the duchess? Daphne had always assumed her aunt, much like her grandparents, had disproved her parents’ match. Was it possible Aunt Susan held a differing opinion of her sister’s union ?
“Lived? Is your sister no longer alive then?” The duchess cut into Daphne’s thoughts, her fan picking up speed again.
Aunt Susan’s shoulders fell. “No, I’m afraid she passed not long after Daphne was born. But now that the war is over and our family has reconnected, Daphne shall be introduced into society as her mother originally intended.”
It was almost as if she had fallen off a horse, so quick was the air to leave Daphne’s lungs. She must have misheard, for she had no recollection of being told by her aunt or brother, or her father, for that matter, that the purpose of this trip was to introduce her into English society. Her mother could not have possibly wished for her daughter to be associated with the very people who had shunned her after she had accepted the hand of an American businessman. Daphne’s fingers gripped the edge of the chair in a feeble attempt to steady her nerves.
What other surprises would she have to endure before she quit the room to write her father a very curt and discontented letter?
“She needs an introduction into society? Excellent.” The duke’s eyes fairly twinkled. He centered his gaze on Daphne, his smile widening. “Allow me to invite Miss Farrington to her first outing of the Season by extending an invitation to Spencer Court tomorrow afternoon. Mother and I look forward to having you grace our spring picnic. Do say you’ll come?”